


SWAK

by sephirothflame



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alcohol, First Kiss, First Time, Hallucinations, Hand Jobs, M/M, Sex Pollen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-23
Updated: 2012-06-23
Packaged: 2017-11-08 08:46:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/441349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sephirothflame/pseuds/sephirothflame
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“There are times,” Tony says, “that kissing doesn’t count.”</p>
<p><i>Or</i>, five times Coulson wasn't Steve's first kiss and how Steve comes to terms with the fact he maybe wishes Coulson was.</p>
            </blockquote>





	SWAK

**Author's Note:**

> warnings: 5+1, mild crack, alcohol, hallucinations, sex pollen and handjobs. Minor one-sided Steve/Bucky, Clint/Natasha, Pepper/Tony. References to _Captain America_ and _Men In Black_ ~~because Agent K is Coulson’s[father](http://authormichals.tumblr.com/post/23520997445/manueluv-and-i-are-convinced-agent-k-is-coulsons)~~. Post-Avengers, though spoiler free.
> 
> _SWAK_ : Sealed With A Kiss

**one**.

 

Coulson isn’t breathing.

 

Steve catches him in a panic, one arm looped around his waist and the other instinctively flinging out to toss his shield at the grotesque alien that shot him. It’s easy to ease Coulson down to the gravel, Clint cursing up a storm in his ear bud while Hulk smashes the alien and his plasma gun into sticky, green pieces.

 

Near as Steve can tell, Coulson isn’t otherwise hurt. His suit is ruined, but the plasma didn’t sear through it or burn him. Steve hears Tony’s rant even before Iron Man drops to the ground at his side, voice blurring in with Clint’s in their panic.

 

Steve doesn’t think before he reacts. He went to boot camp, he’s learned all the basic survival skills. It feels like a lifetime ago and it doesn’t at the same time. It’s not until Steve realizes he could literally crush Coulson’s heart and break his ribs if he presses too hard that his body freezes. He hesitates, just long enough for Tony to bark his name.

 

He doesn’t think about the snapping of delicate bones under the press of the heel of his palms and he focuses on pinching Coulson’s nose and breathing into his mouth. Somehow, being on his knees in the middle of Manhattan while surrounded by a scourge of alien corpses and trying to breathe life into his comrade still doesn’t rank on the list of weirdest things Steve’s ever done. It only occurs to him in passing though, between one breath and the next, and Steve has to fight the urge to repeat some of Clint’s more choice curses.

 

Just as the panic is starting to set in, when Steve has a hard time controlling himself from pushing too hard, Coulson sputters.

 

Steve is relieved, and judging from the sudden buzz of chatter in his ear bud, the rest of the team is, too.

 

“I thought we had a rule about you doing stupid things,” Tony says.

 

Coulson shoots Tony a look, lips thin and eyebrows quirked despite the coughs rumbling through his chest. He lets Steve help him sit up and wipes a hand over his suit to clear the dust and dirt almost absentmindedly. “I was cornered. I didn’t have a choice.”

 

“You’re banned from leaving the tower from now on,” Tony says. “JARVIS, make a note. We’ll write a memo to Fury about this later.”

 

Coulson rolls his eyes, and that’s sign enough for Steve that he’s okay. He stands up on wobbly feet, quashing any objections that he should be laying down right now or taking it easy. “There’s work to do.”

 

Steve stands up and fetches his shield from where it had fallen. He wipes at the vibranium uselessly before turning to the gathering of Avengers. “Back to work,” he agrees.

 

“All work and no play,” Tony sing-songs as the Iron Man mask covers his face. He’s in a surprisingly good mood despite the fact the city is under attack. “Don’t worry Cap, we won’t tell anyone about this little incident.”

 

“This – what?” Steve asks. 

 

“CPR doesn’t count as making out,” Tony replies, his voice in Steve’s ear even as Iron Man pushes off the ground to track down more aliens. “Your virtue is still safe.”

 

Steve isn’t sure if he’s flustered by the comment, or that Tony makes it despite everything that’s going on around them.

 

Coulson just regards Iron Man coolly and says, “there’s a time and a place, Stark,” but Tony just laughs and they really don’t have time to dwell. Coulson finds his handgun in the rubble and gestures over his shoulder. “I’m going to regroup with Fury.”

 

“Right,” Steve says, and there isn’t any reason for him not to rejoin the fight.

 

 

**one and a half**.

 

It isn’t until after, when they’re standing in Central Park and eating hotdogs from a street cart that Tony explains what he meant by his earlier virtue comment. “There are times,” he says, pausing long enough to take another bite and chew, “that kissing doesn’t count.”

 

“But we weren’t kissing,” Steve says, a little horrified but mostly just exhausted. “It was CPR. He wasn’t breathing.”

 

“Exactly,” Clint replies. He picks at his hotdog bun before grinning over at Steve. “That’s why it doesn’t count.”

 

“Count as what?” Steve asks, frowning.

 

“Your first kiss,” Clint says, grinning wider. He isn’t mocking Steve, not intentionally, but Steve can’t help but turn to glower at Tony in betrayal.

 

“I told you that in confidence,” Steve says.

 

“Clint was in the ceiling,” Natasha says. Coming from her, the words are almost apologetic. “You should just assume anytime you’re telling someone something personal, Clint is lurking in the ceiling.”

 

“It’s a hobby,” Clint replies around a mouthful of hotdog.

 

“Like I was saying, that’s one of the times that don’t count,” Tony continues. “It’s like, fake kissing, for the good of humanity.” He pauses and scratches the back of his neck. “Unless there was tongue.”

 

“Tony!” Steve says.

 

“Ignore them,” Bruce says sympathetically.

 

When Thor asks to know more about this list, in which certain situations do not constitute as kissing, Steve thinks Bruce might be onto the right idea. It’s probably a bad sign when Bruce is the sane one in the group, but Steve just takes another bite of his hotdog and keeps his thoughts to himself.

 

 

**two**.

 

Steve doesn’t realize his mistake until it’s almost too late. There’s a reason he didn’t want to be part of the charity bachelor auctions Stark Industries was running – because Tony was bored and Pepper can always think of a deserving foundation that needs funding. He isn’t comfortable leading around a woman he doesn’t know, a false promise of a date hanging over his head.

 

Tony had promised Steve only had to show up and be bid on. Maybe take a girl out to dinner and hold doors open for her. Being invited to skip the formalities and jump straight into bed catches Steve off guard by the forwardness and he has no idea what to do but flounder awkwardly.

 

For once, Steve considers himself lucky that Clint was listening in. He wasn’t part of the auctions, but he’s here just the same.

 

“You’ll have to forgive him, ma’am,” Clint says, his voice mockingly polite. He hip checks Steve and wraps an arm around his waist in a loose hug. When he leans in, his voice drops to a conspiring tone. “Cap isn’t ready to let people know he’s pitching for the other team.”

 

The woman looks embarrassed, but she quirks her eyebrows like she doesn’t quite believe Clint’s words. When the awkwardness doesn't pass, she excuses herself to use the ladies’ room real quick and Steve heaves a sigh of relief.

 

Clint drops his arm from Steve’s waist and pulls out his phone to start tapping at the keyboard.

 

“Who are you texting?” Steve asks. Unlike Tony – and Clint – he prides himself on being able to avoid peering over someone’s shoulders to read their private messages. He’s still waiting for them to catch on.

 

“Tasha,” Clint says. He doesn’t need to look at his screen as he types, and Steve’s a little envious of that. “Told her to fetch Coulson and meet us by the champagne tower.”

 

Steve lets himself be lead away, but he can’t help but ask, “Coulson?”

 

Clint looks at Steve like he’s a little slow. “Stark’s here with Pepper and no one is going to believe I would choose you over Natasha.”

 

Steve still isn’t entirely sure he understands, but he smiles when he sees the sparkling champagne table and Natasha waiting by it in a slinky red dress. “You look lovely,” he tells her, and she smiles up at him.

 

“Only you would think Tasha’s a nice girl,” Clint mutters, and he catches one of her elbows in his ribs for the comment. “Dammit, Tasha!”

 

“It’s a complete mystery whey Fury doesn’t want the Avengers to socialize,” Coulson says, his tone dry. It’s not offensive, not really. It’s just. Coulson. He smiles a greeting and takes a sip of champagne. “How is your date going?”

 

Steve considers lying for a moment, because the woman who won his bid isn’t a bad person, but he can’t bring himself to do it. “Not well.”

 

“She propositioned him,” Clint explains. “More than once. The first few times she was too subtle.”

 

“I was trying to be polite,” Steve replies, frowning. He isn’t as naïve as Tony likes to insist he is and he wishes the others would realize this.

 

“She became insistent,” Clint continues. He accepts a flute of champagne when Natasha offers him one and takes a sip. “I told her he was gay to help Cap save face.”

 

Steve’s cheeks flush despite himself. “I’m not – “ he starts.

 

“We wouldn’t judge if you were,” Natasha says. She looks impassive, but Steve smiles at her anyways. “Look at Stark, for example.”

 

Steve doesn’t get the chance to ask what that means before Clint is cutting him off. “ _Anyways_ , unless you want Steve losing his virginity to a woman old enough to be his mother and for him to cry into his pillows for the next week, you should probably kiss him now, Coulson. His date’s on the way back from the bathroom.”

 

Steve stutters out a reply, though even he can’t make sense of it.

 

Coulson looks something between exasperated and indulgent. “Steve.”

 

He’s giving Steve a choice, then. He’s waiting for Steve to either tell Clint off for being a poor human being and an even worse friend or allowing him this chance to avoid further complications with his date for the night. Hopefully, in any case.

 

“It doesn’t count?” Steve finds himself asking meekly. “Tony’s list. This doesn’t count.”

 

“No,” Clint says.

 

For a moment, Coulson looks genuinely confused.

 

“Don’t ask,” Steve says. He feels guilty, because he isn’t being fair to his date or to Coulson. He’s pretty sure he’s abusing trust and friendship, taking advantage of what Tony calls Coulson’s  _hero crush_  but Steve doesn’t want to deal with the alternative. Not tonight. 

 

“I’m sorry,” Steve says and he’s interrupted by Clint’s quiet, “T-minus thirty seconds, your four o’clock and counting down fast.”

 

Steve steps in closer to Coulson and closes his eyes; without looking, he manages to nearly spill Coulson’s champagne and catch the corner of his mouth in a kiss. “Sorry,” he mumbles again.

 

The corner of Coulson’s lips twitch against Steve’s. He moves slowly, fingers squeezing Steve’s bicep through his tuxedo and pressing a proper kiss to Steve’s lips. He doesn’t say  _don’t worry about it_ , but Steve’s pretty sure it’s implied.

 

“Oh.  _Oh_.”

 

Steve steals Coulson’s champagne despite the fact he knows the alcohol will have no effect on him because he needs something to distract himself and keep the guilty bile from rising in his throat. At least when he smiles at her, his embarrassment is genuine. 

 

“I’m sorry,” the woman says. She touches her fingers to her necklace, tugging the chain almost self-consciously. “I assumed – “ She doesn’t need to say she thought Clint and Steve were lying, but it’s obvious that’s what she was thinking. “Well, this is a surprise.” A pause. “This must be your – “

 

“Phil Coulson.” When he offers his hand out, the woman shakes it awkwardly, and Steve nearly startles when Coulson’s other hand touches the small of Steve’s back. “It’s nice to meet you. Thank you for donating to the cause.”

 

Steve isn’t sure how the Earth doesn’t manage to open up and swallow him whole to save him from the situation, but he’s pretty sure it’s all Tony’s fault. In fact, he’s positive of it.

 

 

**three**.

 

Thor brings over Asgardian mead to celebrate Tony’s engagement to Pepper. It’s declared a Bros’ Night – Tony’s words, not Thor’s – despite the fact that Natasha lives with them and Pepper and Jane aren’t even in the city. They never object to Natasha spending time with them because Clint assures them she’s the ultimate  _Bro_  at the core of the sentiment, but she’s smart enough to take one look at the mess of them and turn on her heels.

 

Really, no one can fault her for not wanting to listen to Clint and Tony try to shout _Bohemian_ _Rhapsody_ over the boom of Thor’s Asgardian battle ballads.

 

Bruce doesn’t trust himself to drink after he sees the affect it’s having on Clint and Tony and Thor, and Steve is too used to not being able to get drunk to even bother trying. It isn’t horrible, sitting with him on the couch while the other three drink and bicker until Clint and Tony start to pass out.

 

Steve likes Bruce. He isn’t reckless and he’s a good companion.

 

“Aren’t you curious, though?” Bruce asks eventually. He’s mindful of Clint’s head on his thigh, though he pets the archer’s hair almost unconsciously as Clint rambles with slurred words and half-lidded eyes.

 

At first, Steve isn’t sure what Bruce is talking about. It takes Bruce gesturing towards Tony and Thor, huddled near a keg of mead for Steve to catch on. The alcohol Thor brought from Asgard was enough to get him drunk within a couple of flasks, never mind the affect it’s having on Clint and Tony.

 

“If it’s a matter of metabolism,” Bruce says slowly, almost contemplatively, “then it would be a matter of quality, not quantity, right? If you just kept drinking bottle after bottle of Jack Daniel’s, your body would process through it before it had time for the alcohol to kick in. But if the alcohol content is higher and stronger...”

 

Steve sees Bruce’s point. He’s surprised by how curious is about it, even. “Are you encouraging me to get drunk, Bruce?”

 

“Call it an experiment,” Bruce replies. His fingers stop moving across Clint’s scalp and Clint lets out a sound like a dying cat until Bruce sighs and starts petting again, cringing. “I’d like to live vicariously through you, now that I’ve been repurposed to take care of Clint’s whims, apparently.”

 

As bad as Steve feels for Bruce, he doesn’t particularly wish they could trade places. He can almost hear Tony’s voice in his head though, demanding they try something out  _for science_ _!_ It’s the reason Steve looks over to where Thor and Tony are, but near as he can tell, they’re both fast asleep.

 

“It wouldn’t hurt to try,” Steve says slowly. “Now that the others are already down for the count.”

 

“That’s the spirit,” Bruce says with a smile.

 

It turns out, Bruce might have been onto something. The mead is rich against his tongue, cloying his senses and leaving him with a taste for more. It’s hard to swallow mouthful after mouthful, especially if he has no other purpose than to drink, but Thor opens his eyes and encourages him on and Bruce keeps counting cups.

 

When it gets to the point where Steve feels a prickling sensation at the back of his skull, he has to call it quits. The pain isn’t blinding or overpowering, but it’s enough to make Steve overly conscious of himself. When he tries to stand up, to rejoin Bruce on the couch, his legs can’t support his weight and he feels incredibly warm and heavy. There are bubbles building in his chest, but he can’t seem to control his breathing enough to laugh through them.

 

“I think – “ Steve starts. “I think I’ll stay here.”

 

“Humans,” Thor says fondly, and his voice is enough to have Steve pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes to relieve the pressure at the back of his brain. Thor rubs his hand in a circle on Steve’s back, smiling when Steve groans and leans into the touch.

 

“Told you.” The sound of Natasha’s voice is distant, and it doesn’t quite make sense. Steve can’t piece together the context, other than the fact that Coulson is standing at her side in jeans and a leather jacket, like maybe she called him in for reinforcements and to help.

 

Steve’s vaguely aware of the negations going on around him, Natasha’s soft voice declaring she’s taking Clint to bed and leaving no room to argue. It leaves Bruce and Coulson to debate what to do about Tony and Thor and Steve, and Steve finds himself objecting irrationally. “I can get back to my own room!” His voice is louder than he intends and he flinches.

 

“Sure you can,” Bruce says, placating. “But Tony’s passed out cold, and he’s going to need help.”

 

It’s on the tip of Steve’s tongue to tell them to leave Tony, but he manages to bite it back. Objectively, he knows Tony is going to be miserable in the morning and will probably puke, and the little den they’ve carved out for themselves is the last place they need him to vomit. Instead, Steve just pushes himself to his feet slowly and breathes a sigh of relief.

 

He thinks, if this is what being drunk is, it isn’t very fun. It’s inconvenient and his head hurts and he can already feel dry mouth kicking in. Steve’s ready for bed. He’s miserable enough that he doesn’t mind Coulson escorting him, his hand pressing against the small of Steve’s back when walking in a straight line becomes a bit of a challenge.

 

“You have a motorcycle jacket,” Steve says when they make it to his door; he leans against it rather than going inside, because he needs a moment for the world to stop spinning and it gives him an opportunity to tug at Coulson’s coat. 

 

Coulson smiles indulgently and brushes Steve’s hand away. “Yes,” he says simply. “I have a motorcycle.”

 

That, Steve did not know. It surprises him and yet it doesn’t, and there’s a list of reasons why but Steve’s brain is too muddled to sort through them all right now. He settles for touching the collar of the leather jacket and asking, “is she pretty?”

 

“I think so,” Coulson replies.

 

In his head, Steve knows it doesn’t make sense. He knows he’s being irrational. But there’s a fondness in the way Coulson talks about his bike – or maybe Steve’s imagining it, it doesn’t even matter – but Steve wants that. Steve wants someone to smile like that when they say his name and maybe he’s jealous of a bike, and maybe Coulson doesn’t say Steve’s name like that, but maybe he could. It makes sense for Steve to lean forward and press a soft kiss against Coulson’s cheekbone, because he smiles and he’s never objected before.

 

“And I think it’s time to get you into bed, Captain,” Coulson says softly, pushing Steve away from him gently and punching in a security code to open Steve’s bedroom door to help him stumble to his bed.

 

Steve is too tired to object.

 

 

**four**.

 

Steve is pretty sure he can feel the venom pumping through his system with every beat of his heart. It might be a side effect of the toxins, burning through his system and making his blood feel like sludge in his veins. If this is how Steve is going to die, it really sucks.

 

“Hold on,” Tony says, though his voice sounds distant. Iron Man’s hand is surprisingly cold over the puncture wound in Steve’s gut, pressing down to keep him from bleeding out. “You’re going to be fine, Cap.  _Agent K_  and Coulson have got this.”

 

The way Tony spits out the agent's name confuses Steve. Unofficially, the giant wasp creature that’s making its home in the American Museum of Natural History wasn’t a SHIELD assignment; the Avengers weren’t called in. Tony and Steve couldn’t sit idly by while people were getting hurt though.

 

In hindsight, Steve can’t recall why this was a good idea. His skin feels feverish, his throat dry, and every time the light catches something reflective Steve sees a kaleidoscope of bright, shifting colors. It nauseates him enough that he’s dry heaving, and Tony makes a strangled sound of disgust.

 

“Don’t you dare throw up on me, Cap,” Tony warns.

 

Steve looks up at him, tipping his head to the side. He  _knows_  that it’s Tony above him, in his Hot Rod red and gold Iron Man suit, but with the wave of colors bouncing off the shattered glass windows and the fire burning through Steve’s system he almost looks like his father. Steve touches his fingertips to Tony’s face to verify it’s not Howard but the results are somehow inconclusive.

 

Blinking rapidly, Steve tries to flush the image from his eyes and brain. “You don’t – you don’t recall if there were any halluc – hallucin – “

 

“Hallucinogenic properties to that venom?” someone says, causing Steve to crane his neck to investigate. Agent K, Steve thinks, but he can’t remember why that’s important. “Unfortunately there are, son. They should burn their way out of your system soon enough.”

 

Steve makes a thoughtful noise but is distracted by the warm glow of Tony’s arc reactor. He touches his fingers to the smooth surface and he’s pretty sure he can feel the colors pulsating from it.

 

“Captain,” Tony says. He catches Steve’s fingers in one hand and lets go of the puncture wound. It’s not leaking blood all over the place and Steve tries to tug his fingers free from Tony’s to poke at it instead. “ _Steve_ ,” Tony says in exasperation.

 

“Forgive him, Stark,” another voice says above them. “He isn’t exactly in his right mind.”

 

“Yeah, you guys should probably get him to a hospital or something.” The Agent -  _J_ , Steve’s mind supplies – looks somewhere between exhausted and completely unimpressed. There’s blue pus on his suit that makes Steve’s stomach roll at the sight. “We’ll take care of the mess here.”

 

“SHIELD HQ would probably be more appropriate.” It takes Steve staring hard, forcing himself to watch despite the distraction of colors and sounds, for his brain to supply the name  _Coulson_.

 

There’s something then, a twinge in his heart that has nothing and everything to do with the poison that cries out for Bucky and Steve bites his tongue hard to keep from calling out his name. He has no idea why he’s making that connection, between his handler and his best friend, but it makes his heart ache to remember and he lets himself be distracted by Tony trying to help him to his feet.

 

Agent J grabs Steve’s bicep when he starts to totter, squeezing tightly and holding on until Steve manages to regain his balance. “Careful, Captain.”

 

“My shield,” Steve says. He pulls free of Tony’s gasp to point in the direction of a collapsed wall. His tongue feels heavy in his mouth and Steve swallows, trying again. “Howard, my shield.”

 

_Tony_ , Steve’s brain says, and looking at him, Steve knows it’s Tony. But Tony is Howard’s son and Tony is Howard and it’s hard to separate the two of them right now despite the fact that Steve  _knows_.

 

For his part, Tony doesn’t do more than tense up. “I’ll get your shield, Cap. Go to the car with Coulson.”

 

Steve lets Coulson guide him out of the ruined Museum, pushing at the small of Steve’s back whenever he manages to get distracted by a new sight or smell. The pain is starting to fade, but it’s only serving to distract Steve even more. He almost wishes the venom would continue burning for a little longer. At least the pain would keep him occupied.

 

There’s a conversation going on over Steve’s head, or behind him or around him, Steve doesn’t know. He can’t focus on the words Agent K and Coulson are sharing despite the fact they’re right there.

 

When Agent K leaves, Steve says goodbye to Colonel Philips and he doesn’t even realize what he’s said until Coulson corrects him quietly and ushers him into the back seat of the car.

 

“Am I going to die, Bucky?” Steve asks. It doesn’t feel like he’s dying, not anymore. Mostly he just feels sick to his stomach and like all of his senses are overloading. Steve can almost feel his brain starting to short circuit.

 

There’s an expression on Bucky’s -  _Coulson_ ’s, Steve tells himself,  _Phil_ ’s – face that Steve can’t quite comprehend. “Agent K assured me the venom tends to be non-lethal. Given your particular history, I wouldn’t worry about that at all.”

 

“The super soldier serum,” Steve replies, though he can feel his tongue twisting in his mouth and he’s not sure if his words even come out coherent.

 

“Yes,” Coulson says.

 

The venom is doing strange things to Steve’s head and he wants them to stop. He knows that it’s Coulson in front of him, and not Bucky, like he knows he was in the Museum with Tony and not Howard. Steve’s brain can’t make the distinction, between the feelings and the men, and Steve reaches out to trace the ridge of Coulson’s brow to make himself  _remember_.

 

For his part, Coulson just seems wary. “Perhaps you should sit back, Captain.”

 

“I miss you,” Steve says – a whisper, a shout, his voice is hoarse and he can’t even verify the words have left his mouth at all. “Bucky.”

 

“Steve – “

 

Steve knows, he  _knows_ , but his heart is aching from something he can’t have, can never have, and he doesn’t know why it’s Coulson who drags that feeling out of him. He doesn’t care. Steve just knows right now, this venom is giving him Bucky back and Steve doesn’t want to let him go.

 

It’s hard to ignore the differences, Coulson’s shorter hair and his squarer jaw. His skin is rougher though every touch feels like fireworks under Steve’s fingertips. Coulson doesn’t push Steve away, doesn’t ask him to stop, so Steve leans in and kisses him. Their noses bump and their lips are dry; it isn’t a proper kiss by a long shot but Steve doesn’t care.

 

“Bucky,” Steve whispers, and he can feel Coulson’s fingers on his biceps to push him away gently. Steve resists, leaning in close to kiss him again and breathes out, “Phil.”

 

“I think you’ve had enough excitement for one day,” Coulson says, and this time when he pushes Steve away, Steve lets him.

 

 

**five**.

 

Steve is swearing off contact with aliens for the rest of his life. The pollen makes his skin itch and his nostrils burn, but no amount of sneezing and coughing seems to clear his system of the honey colored spores. His nails scrape over his skin, trying to wipe it away, but it does nothing. He never should have taken his gloves off.

 

“Perhaps you should keep your clothes on, Captain,” Coulson says, and Steve didn’t even realize he was tearing at his sleeves until Coulson’s fingers curl around his arm to stop him.

 

And Steve knows Coulson is right, that now isn’t the time or the place for him to be stripping out of his suit, but he wants to. He needs to. The warm touch of Coulson’s hand, even through the layers of his suit is enough for Steve’s knees to wobble and for him to keen against his will.

 

At first, Coulson looks confused. Something must click though, because he makes a sound in realization and lets go of Steve immediately, going so far as to take a step away from him. “Captain Rogers, how are you feeling?”

 

The question makes Steve laugh, a short, bitter sound. It doesn’t stop him from tugging off his mask and letting it fall to the dirty warehouse floor. “Hot,” Steve says. He wets his lips and digs his nails into his arms to keep from tugging off his shirt. “Hot. Very hot.”

 

“And?” Coulson prompts gently.

 

“A little sick to my stomach,” Steve says. He closes his eyes and tries to breathe through his nose, but it still burns from inhaling the pollen and he sneezes in response. “My, ah, skin itches. And my suit is too tight. And. I don’t know, I need – I need something.”

 

Steve doesn’t understand what he’s feeling, but it’s easy to ramble the things he does know off the tip of his tongue. He knows that he needs  _something_ , though for the life of him he can’t figure out what it is. He thinks about Coulson’s hand on his arm, stopping him from stripping himself, and there’s a low hum through Steve’s system and he thinks, yeah, that’s what he wants.

 

“I want you to touch me,” Steve says quietly. He can’t look at Coulson in the eyes and he can feel his stomach rolling at the request. He’s horrified at himself, but the more he thinks about it, the more he wants it. He wants Coulson to touch him. He needs to feel Coulson’s hands on his bare skin. Steve can’t control the way his body is reacting and he’s inexplicably embarrassed and ashamed as much as he is aroused.

 

“It’s been a while since we’ve had one of these situations,” Coulson says. His tone is more clipped than usual, and it’s the only sign he’s uncomfortable with the situation.

 

Steve tries to stare at Coulson in confusion, but he gets tangled in his shirt and flounders awkwardly. Coulson makes no move to help him and Steve has no choice but to tug and battle his shirt on his own. “What are you talking about?” The words are absolutely not whined.

 

“The pollen is an aphrodisiac of sorts,” Coulson explains. “It…” He stops, like he’s not quite sure how he’s supposed to explain it or he’s distracted by the sight of Steve’s stomach. Steve really hopes it’s the latter. “It causes uncontrollable sexual desire. It’ll pass in time, but it’ll hurt. Agent Romanoff was kind enough to help Barton when he was infected.”

 

Steve’s undershirt tears in his desperation to get it off, but he doesn’t care. “You’re saying – you’re saying the pollen did this?” Steve asks. It makes sense, maybe, but that could just be the fever in his brain talking. “And that Barton – Barton’s been infected, too?”

 

“Unfortunately,” Coulson replies. “And for his sake, don’t mention it. It’s a sore subject.”

 

Steve makes a sound in response but he’s not sure what he’s even trying to say. He just fumbles with his utility belt and tries to ignore the ache in his chest that Coulson is pointedly looking anywhere but at him. “I can’t – “

 

“Extraction will only take a few minutes,” Coulson says. He sounds apologetic, and a little anxious. “Please try to keep your pants on for at least that long.”

 

“I can’t,” Steve says again, and he makes a frustrated sound. His fingers don’t want to cooperate to get his belt off and he’s shaking too hard to force them. “Coulson, please.”

 

“Captain, you need to trust me,” Coulson says. His voice is stricter, the tone he usually reserves for Tony and Clint when they’re being particularly difficult. “SHIELD has protocols for this.”

 

Steve hates that he can’t control himself and that his body is betraying him. All he knows is that he needs to be out of his clothes now, because they’re too hot and restricting and covered in the pollen that did this to him in the first place. “ _Phil_.”

 

For the first time, Coulson looks genuinely conflicted. “Captain.”

 

“Please,” Steve says again, and when he reaches out to curl his fingers into Coulson’s suit coat, Coulson doesn’t push him away. He tugs gently, urging Coulson closer, and he’s surprised when Coulson consents with calculated movements. “Phil,” Steve breathes, and it’s enough.

 

Coulson’s movements are slow and deliberate, though he doesn’t make eye contact with Steve, even as his fingers brush Steve’s aside to undo his belt buckle. “Just this once,” Coulson says, his voice soft enough Steve’s not sure if he’s talking to himself or Steve. “Until our ride gets here and we can get you home.”

 

Steve just moans Coulson’s name and arches into every brush of fingertips along his chest and belly. He tugs at Coulson’s coat, urging him backwards until they’re against a dirty wall and Steve is encouraging Coulson to press him into the space. His suit scratches against Steve’s skin and it’s maddening, but Steve clings to it anyways and begs for more.

 

It’s messed up, they shouldn’t be doing this, but Steve doesn’t care. His skin flushes from the pollen as much as he does from the knowledge that Coulson is touching him, honestly touching him, in a way Steve isn’t familiar with. This isn’t anything like Steve imagined (hoped, dreamed) his first time would be like but he’s too far gone too care.

 

Coulson’s fingers are just tight enough around Steve’s cock, stroking with ease and determination, and he breathes Steve’s name almost reverently, like despite the messed up situation, he’s still something to be cherished.

 

It’s horrible and wonderful at the same time. Steve can feel the pollen burning in his system, can feel his arousal and need pumping through his veins with every breath he takes. There’s no time for this, no room for Steve to be ashamed when he arches his hips up into Coulson’s fist and keens in the back of his throat. He wants more, he needs more, and Coulson just tightens the grip of his fingers and gives Steve everything he pleads for.

 

Steve moans Coulson’s name when he comes, moans  _Phil_  long and low and sweet, and presses a feverish kiss to Coulson’s lips. His fingers are still trembling when he catches the back of Coulson’s neck, his jaw, but he moans  _Phil_  again and Coulson makes no attempt to push him away.

 

 

**zero**.

 

Phil and Steve really need to have a talk.

 

Steve debates the merits behind it for a long time, weighing the pros and cons in his head, but he can’t see any other option. He doesn’t know how to carry on when there’s this giant purple elephant trapezing through the room – and for once, they aren’t poking fun at Hawkeye.

 

Tony told Steve there was a list of situations in which kissing absolutely did not count. CPR, for instance, or for the good of the team or in life or death situations. Steve knows this, he understands it.

 

He’s just not sure if the list still counts if Steve is glad that Phil’s the one he kissed.

 

There’s no denying it, not anymore. Steve begged the other man to jerk him off when he was under the influence of aphrodisiac pollen and when he had alien venom pumping through his veins, he confused him for Bucky. Try as he may, Steve can’t dwell on the why, even if he’s pretty sure he knows the answer.

 

Of all the people Steve could be not-kissing, he’s glad it was Phil. He just doesn’t know what to do with that knowledge once he’s acquired it. He debates it for a while, holding off even longer than when he was weighing his options in the first place, but he knows what he has to do. There aren’t any options and Steve doesn’t want to let this one sit forever. Not after – after _everything_.

 

Phil doesn’t look up when Steve enters his office, and Steve doesn’t blame him. There are enough file folders on his desk to start a decent sized bonfire. “What can I help you with, Captain?”

 

“I was hoping we could talk,” Steve says. He stands at attention, almost on impulse.

 

“Of course,” Phil says. He looks distracted, rearranging the stack of file folders on his desk so he can see over the top of them. “Take a seat.” He pauses. “Just push the stuff – “

 

Steve moves the box on the chair opposite of Phil’s desk to the floor carefully, and he feels disheartened by the number of papers in it. It seems amazing that Phil has time to do anything at all when he has so much paperwork to get through. “Is this from the thing with the Zoo?”

 

“No,” Phil replies. “Well, some of it is. There are expenditure reports and mission reports and new recruit files Fury asked me to look over.” He looks tired and Steve doesn’t blame him. “What did you want to talk about, Captain?”

 

“Steve.”

 

Phil smiles, barely more than the softening of his eyes and the corner of his mouth twitching up. He looks better though, relaxed, and Steve kind of likes it. “Steve.”

 

“I don’t know if there’s a tactful way to do this,” Steve replies honestly. He rubs the back of his neck and has to remind himself that now is not the opportune time to stare at his lap instead of the man across from him. “It’s about the kissing.”

 

“I was under the impression Stark had a list of reasons why our interactions didn’t constitute as kissing,” Phil replies. “And that your virtue is in fact, safe.”

 

“He does,” Steve says, frowning. He doesn’t know what he was expecting, but he was kind of hoping Phil would just look at him and understand. It would certainly make things easier.

 

Phil doesn’t say anything. He curls his fingers together and rests his elbows on his desk and waits, forever patient and understanding.

 

Steve clears his throat and tries to start again. “I meant. I came here to say.” It’s hard to continue when there’s a chance he’s going to be rejected to his face, but Steve can’t stop now. There’s a part of him that’s even pretty sure Phil won’t hate him after all of this is done. “What if there wasn’t a list. If it didn’t matter.”

 

For a moment, Phil looks contemplative. He chooses his words carefully. “Any initiation of fraternization would be considered inappropriate, in regards to duel employment by SHIELD.”

 

Steve isn’t entirely sure, but he’s thinks he was just shot down hard. He slumps in his seat a little, but he isn’t ready to give up. “Clint and Natasha – “

 

“Are a special circumstance,” Phil says. He’s watching Steve carefully, like he’s not quite sure what to expect here, either. “There are issues of disclosure, and Fury signing off on their relationship. It isn’t a fling for them. They’ve technically been married in three different countries and ceremonies.”

 

“Really?” Steve asks. He didn’t know that, but that somehow doesn’t surprise them. “Wait, no. That’s not the point.” He presses the heels of his palms into his eyes and huffs. “Is there any way you could make this a little less complicated for me, here?”

 

“That’s the point I am trying to make,” Phil replies. He leans back in his seat and straightens his tie. “It _is_ complicated. There are rules. Regulations. It’s risky to have two operatives to be romantically involved working on the same team. It could cause… issues.”

 

“I was kind of just hoping we could get dinner sometime,” Steve says sullenly. He doesn’t add that he wants to do more, because he can’t make his lips form the words  _necking_  and  _sex_  without them coming out inappropriate or desperate. “Every now and then. If that’s okay.”

 

“I have no desire or time for a casual fling or  _hookup_ ,” Phil says. There’s an obvious distaste for the last word and Steve doesn’t blame him.

 

“I wasn’t hoping for something casual,” Steve says. He looks at Phil and doesn’t let himself look away. “I don’t – I don’t know how serious it could be, because I’ve never done this before. With anyone. But I would like to try.”

 

Phil smiles again, the one that’s quiet and soft and makes Steve smile in response, a warm feeling in his chest. “We could always try dinner,” he offers. “And if it continues, Fury would have to know.”

 

“I know,” Steve says. He does. As much as it horrifies him to think of Fury being in the know of Steve’s romantic life, he does understand. It isn’t trivial, not when Steve wants to touch his handler and maybe wake up next to him sometimes and the fate of the world rests on their shoulders.

 

“Good,” Phil says. “We’ll get dinner, then. Not tonight, I’m afraid. I have to have this paperwork finish by the weekend.” He frowns. “Friday?”

 

“Friday sounds good to me,” Steve replies. It’s easy to relax back in his seat then, and he heaves a sigh of relief. Against his better judgment, he can feel his cheeks heat up as he asks, “will I get to kiss you again?”

 

Phil just smiles at him. “We’ll see.”


End file.
